Off the Cuff
by Abroma
Summary: At Hermione's intimate-dinner-party-turned-raucous-drunken-celebration, a mystery guest left behind single silver cufflink, and Hermione is determined to find the owner if it's the last thing she does. Unless it's Ron's, because she's avoiding him. Or Draco's, because he's avoiding her (but he wasn't at the party, anyway).
1. Chapter 1

The combined bachelor/bachelorette party cleanup was turning out to be more difficult than Hermione had anticipated when she volunteered to host everyone at her London townhome.

For one, instead of staying contained to the sitting room and attached formal dining room (as specified in the invitation), the celebration span the entirety of the house, from the third-floor bedrooms all the way down to the kitchen on the first. Even the front hall closet was utilized in a rousing game of Seven Minutes in Heaven, which Hermione soon regretted teaching them about ("It was supposed to just be a laugh!" she had said. "We weren't supposed to actually _play_!").

Secondly, the guest list she had been provided, as it turned out, could not predict the people who showed up through the Floo. What had been planned as "an intimate get-together for the happy couple and their closest friends" became the event of the year, with guests bringing plus-ones, plus-ones bringing plus-twos, and so on, until the idea of an intimate gathering was just a faint memory in Hermione's mind, like a dream that she just couldn't keep hold of.

Maybe she was being dramatic.

The third reason was one that she should have planned for. It should have been obvious that Theo would try to turn a tame observance of love into a night full of shots, loud music, drinking games, teenage party games ("Seven Minutes in Heaven is about _love_, Granger!") and hangovers-in-waiting. She had been to enough of the same events to know his true nature. Even Harry should have foreseen the antics that his friend and former partner (and, as of two months ago, current subordinate) would get up to.

It didn't help that she was in a terrible mood, the source of which had been crumpled up and shoved deep into her pocket. She had hoped that she could forget Draco's brusque cancellation, but the hole his note was burning in her jeans was only increasing in prominence. She didn't really think he would follow through, not after he failed to follow through the night before, but having the physical confirmation was a punch to her gut.

It gave her more time to clean, at the very least.

In any case, she had quite the job ahead of her. What she had once hoped would be a few hours the morning after cleaning up empty bottles and used napkins had turned into a full day (multiple day?) cleaning extravaganza. The kitchen was easy enough, and with the exception of two used condoms in the corner of the front closet ("In only seven minutes? _Really_?" she had said to no one, and she now dreaded what she would find in the bedrooms), she hadn't found anything too shocking.

But as she stood in the large doorway into the sitting room, she began to think she was in over her head.

Theo had pushed an end table into the far corner to create a makeshift bar, with bottle after bottle filled with different kinds of alcohol (all of which he brought himself). Cups were lying on every surface as well as on the floor, beside empty beer bottles and shot glasses. There was even a shoe lying against the left wall – just one. Seamus's shirt, which had come off earlier than usual last night, was laying over one of the wingback chairs, and Dean's, which had come off not long after, was on another.

She placed her memories at various points of the room as she moved through it. The table next to the doorway was where Neville had recited a sonnet about Harry and Ginny's love – complete with a few too many plant metaphors – before spilling his drink all over the floor, and right there by the ottoman was where Blaise had announced – joked? – that he was going to move to Italy ("because you're all terrible, and I hate you all," to which Theo had topped off Blaise's glass and said "cheers, mate," clinking their glasses together with a grin). And there, on the stretch of wall next to the adjoining room holding the Floo, is where Ron had approached her, and told her – had told her – and then he –

Well. Hermione blinked once, twice, three times to clear the memories from her head, and loosened her grip on her wand as she continued to clean. She wrinkled her nose at the smell of alcohol and sweat that seemed to permeate the air and had probably sunken into the furniture.

Cups and shot glasses were levitated and moved into the kitchen, placed on her table until she got around to washing her dishes. Beer bottles were recycled, as well as the empty bottles of Theo's alcohol. The remaining Gin and Whiskey were moved to Hermione's liquor cabinet. What Theo didn't know wouldn't kill him.

Her furniture, which had migrated across the room as the night wore on, was moved back to its original layout. Two wingback chairs, sitting across a modern, glass top coffee table from a navy loveseat; three short bookcases lining the back wall; a large cream-colored rug placed in the center of the room (which had to be spelled clean due to various spills of coke, juice, beer, and red wine).

When she first purchased the house, she had a small room built off to the side of the sitting room and had the Floo moved to the smaller space. It assured that people wouldn't be appearing directly into her home (which had always made Hermione uncomfortable, after growing up in a muggle home), and it would keep the Floo powder and ash away from her living spaces.

She was grateful for her decision that day. The small greeting room that contained her Floo was a disaster. There were multiple spots where drinks had been spilled – Hermione had _told_ them not to stand close to the fireplace in case someone came through – and her Floo powder had at some point fallen off of the mantle and scattered across the floor. Which meant she had no Floo powder left.

With a sigh and a flick of her wrist, the tile floor was _scourgify_-ed. Satisfied, she turned back towards the sitting room, only to turn back on her heel at the _tch-tch-tch _sound of something skittering across the porcelain. The light caught a glint of silver on the ground by the fireplace and she knelt down, the floor cold and hard against her knees.

"What the–" she muttered, picking it up and rolling it around in her hand, taking in the onyx inlay and the bullet back of a silver cufflink.

* * *

Hermione slipped the cufflink into her pocket on Monday morning and headed straight to Harry's office upon entering the Ministry.

"Hermione," he grinned when she stepped inside his office. Harry was sat behind his desk with Theo sitting in one of his visitor chairs, his legs resting up on the desk and his arms crossed against his chest.

"Granger." Theo raised a brow and stretched his arms overhead. "Great party on Saturday. I think I might still be hungover."

"Oi!" Harry pushed Theo's feet off the desk and narrowed his eyes. Theo lurched forward as his feet fell to the floor, catching himself with a hand on the edge of the desk. "Don't tell me that. I've already assigned you to the field today."

"Thanks for that," he muttered. Then, louder, "You can relax, anyway, I'm obviously joking. Although it wouldn't be the first time I was hungover out in the field." He sent a roguish grin Hermione's way and propped his feet back up on the desk.

Harry nudged his foot and gave him a pointed look. "As long as you're ready by this weekend."

Theo dismissed the thought with a wave of his hand. "It would be foolish to give up the opportunity to be involved in the wedding of the century. Do you know what you liking me has done for my reputation?"

Hermione cleared her throat. "I have you to thank for the party, I think. I was planning something very different."

"That was clear from the two bottles of wine _only_." Theo leaned one elbow on the arm of his chair and gave her a cheeky grin.

"It was meant to be _intimate_."

"Boring, you mean."

"I do not! It would have been a very—"

"Actually, Hermione, I'm glad you're here." Harry scowled at Theo. "First, I'm sure your dinner party would have been just as well appreciated as what _did_ actually happen." He rolled his eyes at Theo's answering scoff. "And second. I think I may have left something at your house."

Hermione's pulse jumped in anticipation – maybe this would be easier than she thought. "Is it a cufflink?" She slipped her hand into her pocket and wrapped her finger around it.

"What?" Harry cocked his head. "A cufflink?"

Maybe not. "Yes, I–" Hermione pulled the cufflink out of her pocket and held it out in her palm for Harry to inspect. "I found it while I was cleaning. I don't know whose it is."

Hermione held out her hand and Harry plucked it from her fingers. He rolled it around in his hand and brought it up to the light. Even Theo leaned over the desk to peer at it.

He handed it back. "It's not mine." He leaned back in his chair, looking apologetic. "It's nice, though. Where'd you find it?"

"By the Floo," Hermione said, wrapping her fingers around it in a fist. "Whoever it was must have dropped it while they were leaving."

"I didn't realize anyone was even wearing cufflinks."

"It's not something I look for, usually. However," she shot Theo a pointed look, "the invitations that I sent out _did_ say black tie."

Theo held his hand out, his brow furrowed. "May I?"

Hermione nodded and dropped the item into his palm.

"I didn't leave that," Harry pointed to the cufflink, "but I did leave. Er. A shoe? I think – in the sitting room."

There was a pause, and then Theo burst out into raucous laughter.

"A shoe? Just the one?" He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs as he cackled, shoulders shaking. "Did you go home with only one shoe, Potter?"

Harry frowned. "Gin had the same reaction." He brought a hand up to his hair, smoothing it over his head. "I didn't even realize until this morning. I had to wear my nice shoes. You know, my gala ones." To illustrate, he threw one leg up onto the desk and rucked up the bottom of his robes to show off a shiny black oxford.

Theo's laughter eventually subsided into residual chuckles. Harry dropped his leg.

"So, Theo," Hermione said, bringing him back. "Is it yours? Do you recognize it?"

Theo's lips were still tilting into a smirk. "Not mine. You know who would own something like that, though? Draco. Have you asked him?"

Hermione was afraid of that. "He wasn't at the party, though. I had thought the same, actually. But." She shrugged, shifting her weight back and forth between her feet.

He had been on the original invite list and had confirmed with both Harry and Hermione that he would be attending, but he had never shown up on Saturday night. Hermione was hanging around the greeting room for most of the evening (_not_ waiting for him), and when she wasn't, she would find her eyes drawn to the area every few minutes. She had been hoping, after dancing around each other for the last several months, that that would be the night they would stop beating around the bush and –

– but it didn't matter now. Because it wasn't, and they weren't, and that was fine. They had plenty of time. There was no need to rush into a relationship, and it was nice spending this time getting to know each other better and enjoying each other's company. It was nice. She was fine with it. She _was_.

Well, she was trying to be.

"Oh." Theo paused, considering. "Right." He scratched his jaw, the sound of his nails catching on his days-old scruff floating into her ears. He continued to stare at the item sitting in his palm. "But he could have dropped it some other time, no?"

"Some other time?" She could see Harry looking over at her, questions written all over his face. She had been quite conservative with the information she shared about her relationship with Draco – primarily because as it stood there was no relationship. Nothing official, just Monday lunches and innocent flirting and playful touches for the last six months.

"Yes, you know," Theo waved his hand in the air, gesticulating, "the last time he was over, perhaps."

"Oh." Hermione looked away, neck tingling. "Theo...we don't – he's never been to my house. We aren't...it's not like that."

Theo was fishing, but there was a distinct lack of information to fish for. Harry liked to do this with her as well, and it was becoming tiresome, having to keep vocalizing everything their relationship wasn't. Not for the first time, she wondered if Harry and Theo talked about them when they met in his office like this. They could have been talking about it right before she came in.

"You don't – he isn't...ah." His hand came up to rub at the back of his neck and his eyes darted between Harry and Hermione, looking abashed.

She squeezed her eyes shut and turned back to Harry because what she wanted to ask him was even more uncomfortable: "Do you think it could have been Ron's?"

She could make an educated guess that Harry already knew how Ron felt, but he also knew how Hermione felt. They had talked at length after the breakup, and it took him two months of explaining all her reasons for ending it before he stopped trying to convince her to go back to her ex.

Harry's eyes were sparkling with amusement before he opened his mouth. "Ron? Wear that?" Gesturing to Theo, who still held the object in question.

Hermione shook her head. "I know, I know, and that was my first thought too, but." She sighed. "But doesn't it seem like something Percy could have given him, maybe? Or Bill?"

"I honestly doubt it," he said, leaning back in his chair, looking relaxed, "He'd never accept a gift from Percy. And even if he did, he wouldn't wear it."

"Fleur, maybe?"

He wrinkled his nose. "Fleur wouldn't get him something that nice." He paused. "Would he even know how to wear them?"

Hermione's lips turned up in an anxious laugh, and even Theo chuckled into the folder he nicked from Harry's desk to appear occupied and not like he was eavesdropping.

Harry continued. "You may just have to ask him."

Her fingers twitched. "I was worried you'd say that." Wringing her hands together, she took a step forward. "I – I'm trying not to see him yet. Something..._happened_ at the party and, well. I don't want to deal with it just yet. Until I figure out how." Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Theo leaning closer.

Harry didn't look at all relaxed now. He bent forward over his desk, resting weight on his elbows. "What do you mean, _happened_."

"He...he –Theo, do you really need to be here right now?"

"Hm?" Theo looked up from the papers that he hadn't been reading, his face the picture of innocence. "Oh. Yes."

Hermione sighed. "Fine. Just – fine. He...I was over by the Floo to greet guests," – she risked a quick glance at Theo, who was smirking because of course, he could see straight through her – "and he...caught up with me at one point, and we got to," she swallowed, "talking."

Theo wasn't smirking anymore. He was frowning into the borrowed folder, an ankle resting on the opposite knee.

Harry watched her carefully. "Talking."

"Mhmm. Talking. And, well, he – then he…" Hermione grimaced and broke off.

"Do you...you don't have to–"

Hermione shook her head. "No, it's...it was nothing, really. He told me that he wanted to try again. And then he kissed me. So stupid," she added, under her breath. Her words came out in a rush, her lungs squeezing. Her hand came up to touch the ends of her hair, wrapping the strands around her finger.

When she looked up, Theo was looking right at her, his expression inscrutable. He closed the folder and placed it back on the desk.

As if sensing the change in atmosphere, he clapped his hands together and said, "Well, I should get back to work. Potter, Granger. As always, a pleasure." He gave her a curt nod as she felt a small metal object being pressed into her hand as he passed, and she closed her fingers around the cufflink that she had forgotten he still had. She opened her mouth to say something, but he pushed past her and out of the office.

Hermione watched him go and then turned back to Harry. "I _do_ have your shoe, you know."

Harry stared at her for several seconds, reading her as well as he'd always been able to. "I'll come by tonight. And – about Ron."

"Please don't, Harry."

"No! No, of course not. I know you can handle yourself. I was going to offer to ask him about that," he waved his hand toward her fist, "_that_. I don't think it's his, but if you're really worried about it."

Hermione accepted his offer and left his office. Theo was not at his desk when she passed by.

* * *

The first time Draco came to see her in her office was two weeks after he had started as the administrative assistant for the Aurors, a job that was, at the end of the day, unnecessary, but which Theo had lobbied hard for, and being the partner of one of the most influential people in the ministry had its perks.

His tenure began with little fanfare, tucked away in the corner of the Auror office, situated next to the filing room. It was an office that you wouldn't find unless you were looking for it, perfect for someone who was respected by almost none of his co-workers (as he put it).

He had knocked on her office door at the Department for Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, dressed in his work robes and holding a red case file.

They weren't strangers, nor were they enemies, or casual acquaintances. As a result of Draco's friendship with Theo, and Theo's subsequent friendship with Harry, they saw each other on a semi-regular basis at pub nights, get-togethers and other events that are appropriate to attend with friends. Even Ron, while still adamant that they were not friends, had warmed up to a cordial acquaintanceship.

He didn't wait for her to invite him in. Instead, he stepped over the threshold and looked around. "So, this is your office," he sniffed, looking around. He stood in front of her bookcase and ran his fingers over some of the spines before turning his head to look at her over his shoulder. "It's quite small. I thought you were head of the department."

"_Deputy_ head." She watched as he sauntered around her office, fingering the fabric of her tapestry and picking up her photos to examine them with more attention than she thought necessary. "And I like my office. I don't need all that space." She waved her hand into the air, gesturing to _all that space_ that she didn't have.

He eyed the stacks of books on the floor that didn't fit into her bookcases. "Is that so."

"Did you need something?" She gestured to the chairs on the other side of the desk. "You can sit."

He dropped into a chair and turned his attention to the pictures and knick-knacks littering the edge of her desk. One hand picked every object up one by one to examine, while the other pushed the red folder across the desk.

Hermione opened the folder and promptly shut it. "Oh, Merlin. This is Harry's?"

Draco looked at her over the mug in his hand (painted to look like a battery, with the word 'ENERGIZE!' written across in yellow), brow raised.

He set down the mug. "Yes, that was my response as well. I need to file it, but I'm struggling with the cross-references because...well, you can imagine why."

"This is atrocious. How can you read this?"

"Well," he said, lifting and then dropping the marble at one end of her Newton's cradle, "I was hoping that's where you would come in."

Hermione watched him as he stared at the _click-clack-click_ of the marbles. "I don't follow. You want me to fix Harry's handwriting?"

Draco sighed and stopped the marbles. "Would that it were possible, Granger. No, I just need help deciphering." He picked up a box of tea bags, wrinkled his nose in disgust, and set it down. "I thought you might have the most experience."

"Really? I would think Harry has the most experience in that area."

"He's on assignment with Theo." He turned a picture around – the one of her and Ginny in Greece – to face him. His eye focused on something in the photo, and the corner of his mouth tightened before he blinked and turned the frame back around.

"And," he continued, his eyes softening when they landed on the small porcelain otter figurine at the corner of her desk, the one that Luna had found in a market and purchased for her. His fingers twitched as they reached out to grab it, and he rolled it over in his hand to see all sides. Curling his fingers around the body of the otter, he brushed his thumb back and forth over its head.

"Draco?"

Draco snapped back to attention, the base of the figure hitting the desk with a _clunk_. "Right. Yes." He cleared his throat and a soft pink flush grew up his neck. "As I was saying, you already have the necessary clearance to read the reports."

He folded his hands together in his lap, done scrutinizing her desk toys, and tapped his left pinky against the signet ring on his right two times.

"I do," Hermione agreed. "So let's get started, I guess." She opened the folder and began to read.

That was six months ago.

* * *

"Are you ready?" Hermione asked as she let herself into the cramped office. "I was thinking we could go to that Indian place you like so much." One look at Draco told her that he was not ready. His coat was still hung on the back of his door and his head was bent over his desk, quill scribbling across the parchment.

A lock of blonde hair fell in front of his eye, and he pushed it back with long, slender fingers. His shirt pulled taut over his curved back, and she stepped closer to the desk, eyes pulled down the lines of his waist before they disappeared behind the desk.

Her fingers ached. If she reached out, she could touch him. Could run her fingers over his hair and find out if it was as soft as it looked. She could move them over the back of his neck, find out if it felt as good for him as it did for her. Could splay them across his shoulder blades, over the fabric of his crisp white shirt, feeling his muscles move and tense.

His eyes flipped up to hers. His quill hovered over his parchment, a drop of ink forming at the nib. He swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing slightly. "Granger." He dropped his head again and continued writing.

Hermione faltered, whatever she was going to say next lost in her throat. Draco hadn't called her _Granger_ for...well, it hadn't been _that_ long, but it had been a step forward, which made this a step _back_.

After a moment, Draco looked up at her again, raising a brow. "Something you needed?"

"It's Monday." She pointed her chin towards the desk calendar in front of him. "Did you forget?"

Draco's eyes tightened as he regarded the date. The sound of absentminded tapping of his signet ring against the desk was the only sound in the room, ringing out in the silence.

"Lunch?" Hermione asked again.

"I can't." Short, clipped. Final.

"Oh." Hermione face heated, stomach twisting. "Are you busy? I can bring you something. We could eat here."

"That won't be necessary."

He was being distant for some reason. It could be due to any number of things, or a combination. He would sometimes get this way after a confrontation with an Auror, or after a tense conversation with his parents, or if he had a headache that wouldn't go away with a simple pain potion. He didn't like her to push, and she didn't want to make things harder for him. If he were her boyfriend, maybe – but he wasn't. They were just friends.

"Was there anything else?"

"I – no." Hermione took a step forward, and he eyed her warily. "Is everything okay?"

His fingers tightened around his quill. "Just splendid," he said, over-enunciating.

She tucked her hair behind her ear and frowned, her chest tightening. "Have I done something?"

He set down his quill and looked up at her, eyebrows raised, fingering his ring. "I'm very busy, Granger, so if you don't mind." He jutted his chin out and gestured towards the door, and Hermione was dismissed.

* * *

On Tuesday, Ron came to see her.

"I thought we should talk." Ron stood in her doorway, his palm resting against the frame. He looked at ease, casual, but as he walked towards her desk there was tension in his gait. He rounded her office and hopped up on the desktop next to her.

Hermione put down her quill, mouth dry. "I agree. Ron–"

"Just." He held up a hand to silence her. "I – can I say something first?"

Hermione bit her lip, pulling at the ends of her curls with one hand. She watched as they pulled straight, then bounced back. Pulled straight, bounced back. She looked at Ron and nodded, even as her stomach rolled.

"Do you remember, fourth year." He pushed his hair back from his forehead and leaned back, placing one hand on the desk to brace himself and using the other to pluck the otter figurine – the one Draco was always drawn to – from the corner of her desk and wrap his fist around it in his lap. The air surrounding him caught the odor of tobacco and patchouli, and she wrinkled her nose at the prickling sensation on the back of her neck. "At the Yule Ball." He met her eyes, questioning, and of course, she remembered the night that had been both the best and the worst night of her life at that point.

"You told me – and I can't believe I even remember this – well, maybe I can. Anyway. You were upset with me because I wanted to go with you, but I waited too long. And I missed my chance."

She tugged on her hair, feeling it pull against her scalp. "Ron, I don't think–"

"Just – let me finish, please." He held up a hand to keep her from interrupting. "I've been thinking about it a lot, you know? I always thought it would be easy when you found the person you want to be with."

Hermione grimaced. "Really, Ron–"

He brushed her off again. "I thought it would be easy. But it isn't, is it? And I didn't know that. So when things were hard, we fought and gave up."

That wasn't how Hermione had remembered it. What she remembered was a lot of shouting, and ignoring, and crying, and then being so strung out and unhappy that they didn't have a choice but to conclude that it wasn't working. She remembered the nights that she would end up at Harry's because she didn't want to face Ron at either of their homes. She remembered Ron bringing out the bad qualities that she had that she tried to suppress until she didn't like who she was around him anymore.

The things he said to her now were similar to the things he said to her on Saturday but more polished as if he had been thinking about the words since then.

"I was a little drunk on Saturday, and a bit of an idiot, so I don't think I was very clear," he said, all but confirming her hypothesis. "But all I was trying to say is that...I get it now. I want it to be hard because I want to put in the effort. For you." He paused, thinking. "Not hard all the time, mind, but my point is I'm not afraid now, when it gets challenging."

She liked the things he was saying and found them sweet and reassuring, but she wasn't feeling butterflies or that tingling feeling she sometimes felt when certain people (who would remain nameless) looked at her a certain way. The quickening of her heartbeat, the heaviness in her lungs that made it hard to breathe sometimes – all that was missing, and those were things that she wanted now when she hadn't before.

"So," he continued, rubbing his hands on his trousers, up and down his thighs. "I think you're the kind of woman that a bloke should take a chance on, yeah? You deserve to know how people feel about you so – so I'm telling you now. Before it's too late like you said."

A clearing of the throat by the door brought her back to her office, away from Ron, and her heart stopped as she took in Draco's tense figure, his arms crossed tight across his chest, a piece of parchment clutched in his fist, his face murderous. His eyes flicked between her and Ron, still perched casually, _familiarly_, on her desk, holding the porcelain otter, and his jaw clenched.

"Draco." Hermione stood, and next to her, Ron slipped off the desk and turned to face him. She swallowed, her throat thick, and pushed her hair away from her face, fingers lingering at the ends.

"Granger," he clipped, brandishing the parchment in his hand and laying it out on her desk. "Cross-office authorization form that needs your signature."

"Of course." Her eyes darted, unfocused, over the familiar words as she scanned the document. He held his hand on the top of the parchment as she signed, ripping it away as soon as she was finished, and a streak of ink marred the bottom of the contract where her quill had not been lifted in time.

"Was there anything else you wanted?"

He huffed, a bitter laugh, and regarded Ron with a cold stare. "No – nothing." She watched him as he left, his boots clicking across the floor.

She had no reason to feel guilty because Ron was her friend and Draco was her friend and neither of them had made it clear that they wanted more from their relationship with her until Ron approached her at the party. Monday lunches and casual flirting did not stake any claim of Draco's on her, and she was well within her rights to hear Ron out. Or even accept, for that matter. Not that she wanted to – but she had the option, because, at the end of the day, she was still a single woman.

The silence in the room was heavy and thick, until –

"Blimey, Hermione." Ron released a low whistle as if it had been sitting inside him for the last five minutes. "What did you do to him?"

They made more small talk, avoiding any mention of Draco, or of what they had been speaking about before he had interrupted.

Before he left, he said, "I don't need an answer now, just...think about it, yeah?"

When Ron left, she realized she had forgotten to ask him about the cufflink.


	2. Chapter 2

On Tuesday night, she sat down to make a list.

She had known the majority of people at the party, and those she didn't she would be able to get from Harry or Ginny since they were either Harry's co-workers or Ginny's fellow quidditch players. Theo had invited a couple of people that she hadn't known as well, and there was the bloke that Neville brought ("as a friend," he said, then turned red, then coughed).

She sighed and touched the quill to her parchment.

_Blaise_. The most likely owner out of everyone she knew. Hermione never saw him without some adornment involving jewels and precious metals. Besides that, he had been the best-dressed guest at the party on Saturday.

_Seamus or Dean._ Unlikely, but worth asking. She had to give them back their shirts, anyway.

_Neville and guest_. Also unlikely, but he had worn the appropriate clothes for that kind of accessory. And, friend or not, he was apparently trying to impress the man he had brought.

_George._ If he had worn cufflinks, they wouldn't be something as pretty as this one, and they would have something explosive, or foul-smelling, or otherwise embarrassing, embedded in it. Still, it couldn't hurt to ask.

As she continued to write names down, one came to mind that she had been avoiding. She had caught up with Harry to relieve him of his duty he had promised her, which meant that she was only waiting on herself. Taking a deep breath, she wrote the last name down on her list.

_Ron_...

In so many ways he was the Ron she had fallen in love with after the war. He was handsome, funny, and kind, and the perfect balance to her serious nature. She wished that it was that easy – that they could find each other, find their balance, and be done with it.

But it wasn't that easy. It started as little things that Hermione could ignore. Her career aspirations had always been a point of contention with them. She had high hopes for her future at the ministry, and while Ron was still supportive, he didn't always _understand_. He oversimplified her struggles with bureaucracy, red tape, and older male wizards who didn't comprehend her choices and told her so. As these things became harder for her to deal with, Ron's reactions became impossible to ignore.

There was also a disconnect that related to the way they were both raised. She knew from the start that he came from a large family and that he wanted a family of his own. While she wasn't opposed to being a wife and mother, she wasn't ready to put that on her timeline yet. She felt guilty looking into Ron's eyes, knowing what he wanted and knowing it might not line up with her dreams. If he could find that with someone else, she didn't want to be the reason he was being held back.

Their relationship had been good, and it was comforting when she needed comfort. The sex was fine. It wasn't passionate or consuming, but it was loving, heartfelt, and familiar, and it was what Hermione needed from him after everything they went through.

The war had been over for a long time, however, and she was looking for something else now. She wanted a partnership, where she could share her goals and dreams, both short-term and long-term and be understood, supported, and assisted in reaching them. She didn't know if that partner could be Draco, but she knew it couldn't be Ron.

It seemed less likely that it could be Draco now. She thought they were on the same page, that they both were gearing up for a proper relationship, but now it seemed as if Draco had kept her around and strung her along just in case he decided he wanted to pursue her and had decided that he didn't. He had implied that he was ready for her, for _them_, that the party on Saturday would be the impetus for their _next step_. He'd flirted with her, made her feel special. But she'd waited by the Floo the whole night on Saturday, and he hadn't come.

Ron's words stuck with her. _You deserve to know how people feel about you_, he said, and he had followed through, however unrequited it was. She didn't know how Draco felt about her, because he never opened up to her apart from innocent touches that could have been accidents, or fond looks he gave her that could be because she had ink on her face, or casual flirting that he could be engaging in with who knows how many other women.

In fact, the more thought she gave it, the more convinced she was that she made their whole non-relationship out to be something it wasn't. She was the one who had insisted on having lunch together every week. She was the one to start the first lunchtime conversation that didn't revolve around work. She was even the one to propose leaving the Ministry for a proper restaurant.

It was disconcerting, the fact that she was all but throwing herself at him, and he had made no move to start a relationship. She could either move on or move forward, but she didn't want to keep embarrassing herself if he didn't want to be around her.

Holding her list between her fingers, she read through the names again.

* * *

The Monday after their first lunch together, Hermione had gone down to his small corner office for the first time to pick his brain about the filing system he had implemented, and whether it might be a suitable way to organize the files in her department as well. The week after that, Draco came to her office again to return a handful of records that should have been in the DRCMC that he had found while combing through the file room.

On the fourth Monday, Hermione didn't have any reason to be there at all, and yet at noon, she found herself taking the lifts down to the second floor and walking back to the corner office.

Draco, of course, hadn't been expecting her.

"What's that?"

Draco jumped, swearing when his knee hit the underside of his desk with a loud _crack_.

His hands came out to cover the parchment he had been scribbling on a moment before, shuffling together and picking them up to shove into his top drawer. "Nothing," he said, nonchalant. "Personal project. I'm light on work."

"Oh?" Hermione remained in the doorway, not wanting to take up any of his limited space. "What kind of personal project?"

"Doesn't matter." He pushed his chair back and looked down at his knee, holding it steady with one hand and prodding it with the other. He rubbed it one last time and pushed his chair back in. "Did you need something?"

"Have you eaten?"

His eyes widened. "I – no."

"Well." Her hand came up to touch the ends of her hair. "Would you like to?"

"Eat?" He looked her over. "With you?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "You can say no, you know, that's–"

"No! No, that's – I will, it's just." He looked down at his desk. "I don't have any work."

"Draco," she said, smiling, "We can just eat."

They ended up in the Ministry cafeteria, the first time they had eaten together outside of one of their offices. The conversation was centered on work, but it was easy, and it flowed, and it wasn't until an hour and a half later that Hermione looked at the time and realized how late it had become.

The next week, Draco came up to her office, and they ate in the cafeteria together again. Two weeks after that, he told her about his independent potions studies, and his aspirations to become an apprentice and earn his mastery someday. He showed her the papers he had stowed in his desk, filled with recipes and notes on component quantity and quality, and she, in turn, showed him her half-written paper on house-elf psychology that she was hoping to get published.

Three Mondays later, when there were no available tables in the cafeteria, Hermione took him to her favorite Indian restaurant around the corner from the Ministry. She laughed when he overestimated his tolerance for spicy food, but she gave him her full attention when he told her about the letters his mother sent him in his London flat, even though he visited the Manor every weekend for tea. When Hermione pushed for more information about his life, she learned that his landlord was an older woman who used to rent the space to her grandson (who purchased a house with his wife five years ago), he had been to the cinema but the experience gave him headaches, and he liked firewhiskey but preferred brandy.

The Monday after that, she took him to the Italian restaurant across the street. Halfway through the meal he slid his leg forward and pressed his foot against hers. She sputtered and blushed, and he smirked at her, but neither of them moved away.

When Christmas passed, she got him a leather notebook, and he got her a bottle of porcelain cleaner.

Five months after Draco started in the DMLE, Harry was promoted to Senior Auror, receiving his very own team to manage (which, of course, included Theo). Hermione pulled Draco out of his corner office and into the rowdy celebration on the Auror floor, and he stood beside her as she mingled with the other Aurors and spoke with her friends. He remained eerily calm, but when they returned to his office, he exploded, shouting that he was keeping his head down and doing his job and he didn't need her help gaining any sort of acceptance from his co-workers (which, she admitted, had been her strategy).

He didn't contact her for three days, until the following Monday when he came up to her office to collect her for lunch. They didn't speak of their argument again.

They remained on the cusp of...something, but neither of them took the next step that was necessary to make it official.

* * *

Hermione ran through her list in two days with no positive results.

She approached Seamus and Dean early on to return their shirts, but when she held the item out for them to see, Dean asked "Is that an earring?" and Seamus popped it into the air with a swift hit to the back of her hand, and snatched it with a wink.

She had stared at him for several long seconds. Then, "Can I have that back now?"

When she caught Blaise walking out of Gringotts, he said, "I only adorn myself in precious stones." (This, she assumed from the ruby on his ring and the diamonds circling his watch face, was true). He had then asked if she was sure it didn't belong to Seamus or Dean, because it looked very much like something the middle class would wear, and if he remembered correctly, they _had_ spent a large portion of the party shirtless.

Neville wasn't much help either, because although Hermione's cufflink didn't belong to him, it reminded him that he was missing some of his own cufflinks – three to be exact, none of which belonging to the same set – and if Hermione found any of _those_ lying around on her floor, could she please let him know? He spent ten minutes describing each of the three in great detail before Hermione stopped him.

She also asked Neville about his male guest, and Neville flushed, rubbed his hands together and said, "Ah...no, no, I don't think...well, I can ask but...it just doesn't seem like something he would wear. He's a simple bloke." So Hermione moved on to the next person.

A couple of people on her list were Aurors, and she was able to cross them off in one afternoon with a single sweep around the second floor of the Ministry. Ginny's friends from the quidditch league were harder to track down from Hermione's office on the fourth floor, but Ginny assured her that under no circumstances would they even _own_ cufflinks, let alone wear them to a party that they thought would be a casual affair. ("The invitations I sent out said black tie!" Hermione had said, to which Ginny had sniffed, and replied, "Yes, well you did know that Theo was coming, didn't you?").

She had even asked _Luna_ because she often carried things that she didn't need but thought looked nice, but Luna had said, "It's very pretty, Hermione. I wish I could help, but silver gives Rolf headaches, you see." Then, Hermione had asked after Rolf and Luna said he was doing well, "but he's sleeping right now, of course," and when Hermione had cocked her head and drew her brows together, she pointed upwards and added, "because of the sunlight." Hermione wasted no time in thanking her and leaving.

She had even started rethinking what Theo said about Draco having left it there when she knew he hadn't been at the party. _Had_ he been to her house before? Was there a date they had been on that had been obliviated from her memory? And if there was, _who _would have wanted to remove that memory from her mind?

She stopped that line of thought before it went too far.

Ron was the last person she approached. Chances were slim that Ron was the one she was looking for, but she was nothing if not thorough with everything she did. Taking her time in reaching out to him also gave her an opportunity to craft her response to his proposition – a proposition that was unwelcome and unwanted, so Hermione wanted to be sure there was no room for interpretation in her answer.

He was there when she opened the door to Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, the bell above the door frame emitting an obnoxious honking sound (the last time she visited, it had been a selkie call), and she put up a hand to keep him from speaking as he walked up to her.

"Before you say anything, I have to ask." Ron swallowed at that, and Hermione pulled the cufflink out of her pocket. "Is this yours?"

Ron's gaze landed on her face first, before flitting down to her hand, then back up to her face. He shook his head.

"I found it after the party, I've been looking for – anyway. That's...good to know." The display of skin creams wobbled under her hand when she leaned on it, head buzzing in relief.

"Those are quite fancy," he said, his eyebrows drawing together. "Seems like they would have been out of place."

Hermione pressed her lips thin. "_The invitation said_–" she surveyed the store, then lowered her voice. "The invitation said black tie."

Ron scratched his head. He stepped toward her, and she stepped back. "Have you asked Zabini? He was dressed rather nice."

"I've asked him. I've asked everyone." An unfortunate development, for sure. "Also–" she drew up her courage, squaring her shoulders and facing him straight on, "we need to talk."

Ron looked her up and down, then waved her back into the storeroom, his thumb rubbing at the side of his nose. He followed her into the storeroom, closing the door with a _click_ and falling back against it.

"I'm getting the sense it's not good news."

Hermione could have laughed if she weren't so overwrought. At that moment, the thing she loved most about Ron was that he knew her so well. She probably didn't even have to go through her speech for him to get the idea, but she owed him that much.

"You're my best friend," she began and winced at the grim smile he gave her. But she persisted. "You are, and you know how much I love you, Ron."

He stepped off the door, his hands hidden in his pockets as he ambled over to where she was standing against the workbench.

"I wasn't planning on it happening like that, you know. How it did." He meant at the party, she thought, and it didn't surprise her that he wouldn't think of himself as an _up-against-the-wall-in-front-of-all-our-friends_ kind of person. "Not to say I wasn't thinking about it – sorry, Hermione –"

His eyes were light and sparkling, which was a good sign.

"How were you planning it?"

"I hadn't gotten that far yet," he grinned, "obviously. Otherwise, I wouldn't have wasted it drunk against a wall."

"It _was_ unexpected."

"Well," he sniffed, "I'm assuming it wouldn't have mattered anyway?" He looked hopeful even though his question was phrased in the negative, and he looked away, thumbing the side of his nose, at her answering discomfort.

"I really am sorry, Ron." She ducked her head. "You were exactly what I needed – then. But now...I think I need you as my friend."

He lets out a breath, a mix between a sigh and a harsh laugh. "I kind of expected it, to be honest," he shrugged, "but I had to at least try, right?"

He eyed her for another second longer, memorizing her, and then he stepped back, reaching towards the door.

"Ron," she said, stopping him with his hand on the knob. He turned his head to look at her over his shoulder. "I'm glad that you told me. You were right – I think I deserve to know how people feel about me."

Ron smiled at her then. "You deserve a lot more than that, Hermione."

* * *

When Ginny came to her with tickets to the Falcons vs. Harpies quidditch match, she had forgotten that she asked for them. They had been difficult to acquire on short notice, and Ginny had to pull multiple strings to get seats where she did. She hadn't planned on it being her last ditch effort to win Draco over when she asked Ginny about it on Saturday, but she couldn't deny that that's what it felt like, getting ready to give them to him. It was meant to be a beginning of some sort, but it seemed more like an ending now, after everything that had happened that week.

When she pictured this in her head a week ago, the moment that she handed him the tickets to watch his favorite team play, she imagined excitement. She could see his eyes sparkling, that small smile on his face that he reserved for her. His hand would come up to tap on his ring twice in that absentminded way that she found so endearing. Then maybe – a hug? A kiss?

She did not expect him to freeze, one hand on the door frame where he had opened the door to his office. She did not expect his eyebrows to draw together in a frown. She did not expect to feel like him declining was an option worth considering.

He looked down at the tickets in her hand, and then back up to her face, his eyes wary. "You're just...giving me two tickets."

"Well, no." She tucked her hair behind her ear. "One would be for me."

The silence between them was deafening, and she considered turning around and leaving. His eyes, betraying a mixture of disbelief and resignation – and embarrassment? – remained glued to the tickets in her hand, and she tightened her grip until her knuckles were white.

Finally, he looked up. "You. You're." He coughed into his fist. "You want...to go to a quidditch match with me?"

He wore a mask of cool indifference, but his jaw was tight, and there was tension in his stoic expression.

"Well," she said, keeping her voice steady. "It's not just a quidditch match, is it? Aren't the Falcons your favorite?"

"Yes," he whispered. Then, louder: "Yes, they are."

"So?" She thrust the tickets out toward him.

He stared at them again, unmoving. "I don't understand."

"I owe you, right?" She forced a tight smile, which he didn't return. "Remember...for missing the game with Greg. On...on Saturday." Too late, it occurred to her that he may have gone to the match on Saturday after all. That was probably why he missed the party. "Look, it's not a big deal, I just–"

She broke off when she met his eyes, which were now cold and hard, and she didn't know when that had changed during their conversation. She had thought there might have been a chance of him accepting before, but her stomach dropped in resignation as she took in bitterness being directed at her. She wished she knew what she had done in the last two minutes to deserve it.

"Right. Of course." A firm nod. A twist of his signet ring. "I can't. I'm busy." He left the doorway to his office and retook his seat behind his desk, refusing to meet her eye or even acknowledge her as she stood there, wondering what had just happened and feeling nauseous about the whole thing.

She didn't try to change his mind.

Harry's door was closed when she made it back to his office, minutes or hours later. She stood, her fist held up to the door ready to knock, the tickets clenched in her other hand, and she hesitated.

"Returning the tickets?"

Hermione turned to see Theo standing several paces away, everything about him meticulous yet casual in a way she would never be able to pull off. She sighed, fingering the tickets. "I thought I could find someone to go with, but – well. It doesn't matter why." She looked down at the tickets in her hand, what had once been a hopeful symbol, a sign that she was moving forward and not letting other people dictate what she wanted out of her relationships. Well, it could still be that symbol. She was unwilling to roll over for Draco and give him whatever he wanted to appease him, but she had hoped the result of making that known would be a fulfilling relationship of equals and not the image of him walking away from her.

Theo was scrutinizing her, his gaze burning into the side of her head. Gentle pressure was beginning to build behind her eyes, and she breathed in, breathed out.

She looked up. "I don't suppose you'd be interested."

Theo snorted, which did not help Hermione's self-confidence. He held a hand out to placate her. "Sorry, Granger, I didn't mean it like that." He seemed to be reaching for something to say, holding something back. "I just think that certain people wouldn't be happy with me."

_Certain people_ meaning Draco, of course. She brought a hand to her stomach as if she could feel an actual knife there and not just the associated stabbing sensation in her gut.

"I told you, Theo. It's not like that." She said the same thing earlier this week when he asked about the cufflink, and her answer was less sure. But she knew now, without a doubt. It wasn't like that. Whatever they had, it wasn't what she had thought. "Anyway, he said he couldn't go, but maybe...maybe he'd want to go with you." She held out the tickets, and Theo grabbed the ends but didn't pull them away.

"I really only wanted for him to be able to go," she continued, her throat getting thicker the longer Theo stared at her like that. The confused look on his face only dug the knife in her stomach deeper. "Even if I'm not there. I just thought – of course, that was. You know. Before." She shook her head and tugging on the ends of her hair until she could feel the pull on her scalp. Nothing was coming out the way she wanted it to. She let go of the tickets, leaving them in Theo's hands. "Just...take them."

"Wait," he put a hand on her elbow as she turned to leave, pulling her back. "He said no?"

She couldn't look at him. "He said no."

* * *

Draco came back the next day, and Hermione almost expected him to rescind his rejection and take her up on her offer until she saw the stiff set of his shoulders and determination in his eyes.

"Theo says I should apologize," he said, staring a hole through her wall, his arms crossed in front of his chest.

She blinked. "Oh?"

He hummed, and an idle hand came up to trace around the otter figurine. "I told him it was not only unnecessary, it would be counterproductive, but," he shrugged, "he was insistent."

"_Counterproductive_."

"Quite."

"And that's what you think."

"That's what I said, isn't it? I've done nothing that warrants an apology. If anything–" at that, his mouth snapped shut, lips pressed tight. His hand came up to twist his signet ring around his right pinky. "Anyway. I've come, so I can tell Theo that I have. As can you."

"Mm," Hermione pursed her lips and curled a lock of hair around her index finger. "Indeed. What did Theo think you needed to apologize for?"

Draco rolled his eyes, jaw clenching, and stared at the space of wall just over her shoulder. "He seems to think I've hurt your feelings."

"Hurt my feelings," she echoed, surprised. She was pretty sure Theo had never cared about her feelings. Then again, she had also thought that Draco _did_ care about her feelings, so maybe she should get used to being surprised about how former Slytherins responded to her emotions.

"When you – with the tickets. He thinks I upset you by not being able to accompany you."

"The tickets."

His eyes snapped to hers, sharp and cutting. "Are you going to say something, or just repeat everything I'm saying?"

She moved her quill to the top of her desk. "I just want to confirm," she said, pursing her lips. "Theo thinks that you need to apologize for rejecting me," – his lips tightened – "but you think apologizing _at all_ is...unnecessary."

A single firm nod was all he gave. "So, when Theo comes by to make sure I've come, you can tell him I've done what he said," he uncrossed his arms and started turning his feet towards the door, "so – ta, Granger, it's been–"

"What the _fuck_, Draco!" She was on her feet before she even knew that she had spoken, her fist pushing into the top of her desk. With a flourish of her wand, her office door slammed shut and locked, and Draco stepped back in surprise.

"What–" he jiggled the handle and gave it two futile tugs before turning back around, seething. "What the hell is your problem, Granger?" And finally, _finally_, he raised his voice at her.

After a week of indifference and imperturbability, the anger in his tone fueled her, raising her temper. She wanted to hear more, wanted to listen to him yell at her so that she could yell back. She wanted to get everything out of her so that _maybe_ she could understand why he had pulled back from her so suddenly.

"_My _problem?" She felt her eyebrows rise, forming wrinkles on her forehead.

"Yes, your problem!" As if she were crazy. "You've locked me in here, in case you missed that. I can't exactly stay here all day, Granger, I've got very important work to do, and I don't think Potter would–"

She rounded the desk and jabbed a finger into his chest. "You will stay in here as long as I make you."

He snatched her finger with his fist and threw it back down to her side. "So now I'm your hostage, is that it? That's illegal, you know. Just wait until I've told Robards, or — no, who's your supervisor? Leavitt?"

"I just don't understand, Draco!" The words were ripped from her throat, and she hadn't planned on bringing it up, but now it was out there, and they both had to deal with it. "Just talk to me, please! I don't know what it is I've done that you need to treat me like this–"

"You've _locked me in here!_ I've been perfectly polite, and you've just–"

"You've been treating me like gum on your shoe all week!"

He twirled his signet ring in furious circles and looked away, jaw clenched.

"If – if this is what you want, to treat each other like this, then just tell me. I thought we were friends, at least, but now you can't even look at me unless you're upset with me, which is apparently _all the bloody time_, and I don't even know why!"

"Fuck's sake, Granger, shut _up_–"

"I don't know what I'm supposed to do! It's like you don't even care–"

"I'm serious, Granger, _stop_–"

"– but I can't keep humiliating myself like this, so _please_, just tell me if you're done with me because it feels like I'm the only one who really wants this–"

He broke, his arms flying out to the side, his voice exploding. "And yet _you're_ the only one of us kissing Weasleys against walls!"

She froze, eyes wide.

It was clear he hadn't meant to say that last part out loud. As soon as the words left his mouth he brought his hands up to scrub at his face, a pink flush coloring his neck. He pressed his lips together tightly as if that were the only way he could stop himself from speaking again.

Hermione gaped at him. "That's not – how do you even–" She shook her head to try to clear her thoughts, but she was just as jumbled up as before. "Did Theo tell you?"

"Theo?" It came out as a burst, like a dam breaking. He sounded incredulous. "Theo. _God_. You are so – _mm_." He spun around, his hands drew into fists at his sides, his breath hot and heaving. Hermione watched him as he pressed the heels of his hands hard against his eyes and took several deep breaths.

Her heart was in her throat, her lungs not taking in enough air. The room was closing in around her, and she was dizzy with all of it – with him, with this. Dizzy, and exhausted, and _so confused_ and more than a little angry as well.

"Listen–" she wrung her hands together. "Yes, okay? That – that happened." She winced when Draco's eyes narrowed at her. "But I don't think Theo told you everything."

"Theo told me everything I needed him to, which is more than I can say for you." His tone was icy, and she bristled when he looked her up and down with a sneer.

She tried to remember what Theo had overheard. He had been listening when she told Harry about Ron wanting to be with her, and the kiss, but she had also been clear about how uncomfortable it made her, and that she wasn't clamoring to see or talk to Ron again. How much of that had he shared with Draco?

"Well, Theo left something out then, because you clearly don't know all of it–"

"That's bollocks. I've known about Weasley this entire time, and you never even had the decency to tell me, Hermione!" His hand came up to his chest and curled into the fabric, and she almost missed him calling her by her first name for the first time in a week.

"What was I meant to tell you? We're not attached, I don't _owe_ you anything–"

"You think just because you're fucking _Hermione Granger_ that you can go and snog whoever you like up against every sodding wall in the whole world–"

They were talking over each other again, and Hermione knew that they were accomplishing nothing, but she couldn't let him say these things without defending herself. "Every sodding – _excuse me_? You have absolutely no right to dictate who I can and can't–"

"_No right_?" His hands were quivering when he shoved them into his pockets. "I have _every _fucking right. You–"

"I – what, Draco?" She tensed, the words pouring out of her. Her skin burned, heat simmering beneath the surface. "I listened to someone finally being honest with me about how they felt? Telling me that I was beautiful, and intelligent, and kindhearted? I let them kiss me when I had no obligations to anyone else? No – you're right, how _very dare I_!" His hand came up to grab at his hair, and he growled under his breath.

She didn't know all of these things bothered her so much until it was pouring out of her mouth. Their non-relationship. His reluctance to be together in an official capacity, and his jealousy when someone _did _want more. The way he had been treating her the past week like she was nothing more than the dirt under his overpriced dragonhide boots. She thought it would be easy to forget everything and move on, forget he ever happened to her, but she deserved more than that. "I am a...a single woman," his eyes closed and she could see his hands curling in his pockets, "with people in my life who care about me enough to fucking _do_ something about it before it's too late!"

He waffled, opening and closing his mouth. "So, what, you're just." His voice was shaky and high-pitched, and he cleared his throat before speaking again. "You're just going to go be with Weasley, then?"

"I told Ron no, you arsehole!" Hermione threw her arms out wide in frustration and let them fall to her side, palms slapping against her thighs.

Draco froze, swallowing hard. "You didn't." His voice shook, and he took a steeling breath. "You didn't. I saw you."

"I told him no," she repeated, not bothering to relive the past week with him. "But...I want to say yes to someone – someday. And since you've been very clear that it won't be you," – his face snapped toward her, a wrinkle appearing between his brows – "then it's going to be someone else."

His mask faltered, and he swayed back on his heels, a hand coming up to rub at his mouth. His gaze slid from her face towards her desk, to where the otter figurine was perched on the corner.

"Granger." When he met her eyes, her breath left her. "I don't – I can't –"

He broke off and took a step forward, forcing her to step back into her desk. When he took another step forward, her whole body tightened, and she put as much space between them as she could, feeling the edge of the desktop digging into her backside. She grasped the wood with her fingers, pouring her excess energy and emotion into her grip.

He slipped his hands into his pockets, not coming closer but not moving away, and watched as her breath came in and out, her chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. His warm breath drifted across her cheeks. She could just barely smell the edges of his cologne, the scent of cedar and thyme wafting in lazy circles under her nose, relaxing her. She breathed him in and felt her hold on the desk loosen, felt her body begin to sag.

He watched her, his eyes moving back and forth between her own as his breath calmed as well. He took a slow, careful step into her, waiting for her to push him away, and when she didn't move, his fingers came up to graze her hip, testing her. She licked her lips, blushing when his eyes darkened, and brought a hand up to his chest, feeling her heartbeat in her fingertips and seeking out his own. His breath hitched at the contact with her palm, and he bit his lip, leaning closer, a red flush beginning to grow across his neck. He was – she could just – they could –

He stopped millimeters from her lips and sighed. "Why did it have to be him?" His voice was so vulnerable that she wondered whether it was meant for her to hear.

Hermione wanted to laugh because she had thought the same exact thing when Ron had crowded her into the wall and kissed her and then again when he had repeated his sentiments in her office, leaving little doubt as to his wishes.

It struck her, then, that it was happening again. Like she was back in her house, outside her greeting room, being pushed against the wall by Ron Weasley and he was telling her to _choose him_.

She wanted to choose Draco – wanted to be able to. But there was too much between them now, and she didn't know how to start unraveling it all. It was possible that they didn't have a chance anymore, that they had bungled this so precisely that the only thing to do now is pretend they had been just friends this whole time.

When she pictured this moment, the half-second or so before he kissed her for the first time, she imagined it differently. Sometimes, she envisioned it happening on her doorstep after their first date, and he would cup her cheeks in his hands, his fingers dancing on the nape of her neck, and the last thing she would see before closing her eyes would be his face descending, a smile playing on his lips. Lately, she had been thinking about Harry's wedding, where he would ask her to dance, and then when the song ended he would pull her closer to him and kiss the corner of her jaw, and then her cheek, marking a path to her mouth.

Not once did she picture him pushing her up against the desk in her office, her chest heaving in anger, hurt and confusion. She never thought it would be in the middle of their most significant argument to date, with so much still to resolve between them. She wanted it to be a beginning, something that could give her hope, that she could look to in the future if she ever needed to remember why she chose him.

This wasn't that moment.

She pressed her fingers into his chest and felt the soft rise and fall of his lungs and the _thump-thump thumpthump_ of his heartbeat before taking a deep breath and pushing him away. He staggered back, eyes wide and a hand rising to cover where hers had just been.

"Granger, please, just–"

"I need to – go," she muttered, extricating herself from him and plucking her jacket off of her chair. She flexed her fingers as she shouldered past him on the way to her door, heart pounding, her gaze fixed on the carpet as her shoes scuffed against it. "I'll see you at the wedding."

"Gra – Hermione, _wait_."

She walked out of the door, leaving him alone in her office.

* * *

**A/N: Thanks for reading! Last part will be up on Friday.**


	3. Chapter 3

A few days before the disastrous dinner party, he came to her office with a blue folder – a Beasts & Beings case, which meant he needed her signature on another cross-office authorization form to coordinate personnel and resources between their two offices.

Hermione sighed as she looked over the usual stipulations and requests. "What is it this time? Anything interesting?"

"Kneazle fighting ring." He picked up the otter figurine and turned it around in his hand, his touch delicate as he ran the pads of his fingers across its back. He replaced the statue on her desk, then looked at her, gauging her reaction.

"Oh, that's–" she gazed at him, struck by the softness in his eyes and his brow, then jerked back. "Wait. _Kneazle fighting ring_?"

He grinned, tossing the file onto her desk and dropping into her chair. She followed his hands as he smoothed out the wrinkles of his work robes, and when she met his eyes, her breath caught at the affection with which he was watching her. Her cheeks heated, and she looked away, touching her fingers to the ends of her hair. "Of course not." Right, he was talking about something. "Another dragon egg smuggler. Robards thinks it may be related to the last one."

Hermione pulled the folder towards her and flicked it open to the first page. "Partner?"

"Hm? Oh." He stopped the _click-clack-click_ of the Newton's cradle that he had started while Hermione was reading by wrapping his fingers around the marbles. "No. Copycat, possibly."

"I thought the last one was a copycat." She flipped to the second page, not lifting her head.

"Mm. The one before, as well."

Hermione paused. "There have been _three_?"

"Four, actually. That's in the six months that I've been here."

Six months.

Hermione stared at the page. That was six months that they'd been eating together, laughing together and dancing around each other, with no real forward movement. They didn't date, and they didn't even see each other outside of work unless Theo and Harry were there as well.

Harry and Ginny were moving forward; they were getting married in less than two weeks. And Hermione was...what was she doing? She was throwing a bachelor/bachelorette party for her best friends. And playing footsie once a week with a colleague.

"Hermione? Are you listening?"

Hermione looked up, her hair catching on her finger, which she had been spinning around a lock of her hair. "I'm sorry?"

He chuckled, oblivious to her current mild anguish. "I was saying that Moyer should do fine. She's familiar with the other cases. Richardson requested her, even."

"Oh." She shuffled through the pages in the folder, looking occupied. "Yes. Of course."

"Is everything in order?"

"Hm?"

He pointed to the folder. "You haven't signed it."

"Oh. Oh!" She flipped back to the first page and picked up her quill. "Right. No. Yes. Everything looks fine. I'll send her down this afternoon for the briefing." She scrawled a messy signature at the bottom of the contract.

"Actually," she continued, closing the folder and handing it back to him, "I'm glad you're here. I wanted to confirm your RSVP for this weekend."

"For the party?"

"The intimate dinner gathering, yes."

"To which you've invited Theo."

"Yes." Hermione sighed. "Apparently his presence is of vital importance to Harry, much as I tried to dissuade him."

"He _is_ in the wedding. Merlin, I regret that those two ever met." He moved his hands to rest behind his head, stretching his legs out in front of him and drawing Hermione's eyes down his body. Past his coy smirk, broad shoulders, down his slim waist. She could imagine the muscles hiding under his robes and dress shirt, firm and strong, could imagine running her fingers over them, feeling the dips and planes of his stomach, scratching her nails through the thin blonde hairs leading her down to his –

"You should feel honored, you know." He was back to handling the small otter statue, dropping it from one hand into the other and then to the first hand again.

She raised a brow, taking several inconspicuous breaths to calm herself down. "Oh? And why is that?"

"Greg has Falcons tickets for Saturday night. He invited me, but I said no, because of this," he waved his hand around in the air, "thing."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "There will be other games, Draco, it's not like this is some great misfortune."

He cracked his neck and narrowed his eyes. "Of course you'd say that. You hate quidditch."

"I don't _hate _quidditch." The look in his eye told her that he didn't believe a bit of that. "And anyway, Harry's your friend, too, and he'll only be married once. Well, that's the hope." She leaned forward, clasping her hands together. "Go on, then. What should I owe you for this distressing loss?"

He seemed to take a moment to consider it, but there was a glint in his eye that said he already had something in mind. "I hadn't thought about it," Draco cleared his throat, his eyes warm but intent, "but are you busy on Sunday morning?" He ducked his head, meeting her eyes again when she tried to look away. "We could get something to eat. You can decompress from being the model hostess, _and_ – I'll even let you pay."

Hermione's chest warmed. The way he had proposed it so quickly made it seem like...he had _planned_ on asking her. Like he was only looking for an opening to ask this of her, but his mind had already been made up. Her skin felt lighter at the thought.

"Fine," she said. "Sunday morning. You can pick me up at ten. Here, I'll–" She rooted around in her desk for a piece of parchment and ripped off the corner to scribble her address. "It's on the invitation, but here's your personal copy, because I know you've misplaced it."

"A personal copy," he repeated, amusement coloring his voice as he plucked the address from her fingers and held it up. "Do you give this to all your suitors then, or am I special?"

Hermione's brain short-circuited on the word _suitors_. Did that mean...was he…? How much did she want to read into that? How much did _he _want _her_ to read into that? She shook her head and tried to tamp down the smile threatening to take over her face.

"It's standard procedure, I assure you," she said and bit her lip, trying to steady her racing heart.

He huffed a laugh and pocketed the address. "More's the pity. Hopefully, I'll be able to set myself apart somehow."

Her face was red; she could feel her cheeks burning. She could feel her entire body burning and humming with excited energy. "I'm sure you'll think of something."

He met her eyes then, and his gaze was open and inviting, with a heat that made her shiver. He tapped his signet ring twice with his left pinky.

"I suppose I'll see you on Saturday, then. And bright and early Sunday morning, as well."

"What? No. Ten, I said."

"Right. Of course." With a wink, he rose from the chair and sauntered out of the room.

* * *

The wedding was beautiful, as she knew it would be. Harry had teared up during the procession, and then again during the vows, and Ginny had glowed brighter than she ever had before. And then, at the end of the ceremony, Hermione's two friends were married. _Married_. Joined together for the rest of their lives.

During the ceremony, she found her eyes being drawn to the familiar white-blond head, sat two rows in front of her to the left. So much about him – about _them_ – was unclear. The last time they saw each other had been so charged and emotional, and it showed that, on some level, he cared about her, right? Despite his actions throughout the week, something inside him was set off at the idea of her seeing someone else. It might not be life-altering or significant, but he must have cared about her more than just a colleague that he ate with once a week.

Fuck. This needed to stop.

Things were more relaxed at the reception hall, where she could surround herself with friends, and get drinks from the bar, and step outside for fresh air when she needed it. She stuck close to Neville (and Neville's male guest who was still just a friend) and Luna (and Rolf, who was able to come out because the sun had set), and although she didn't have much to talk with them about, it was better than standing by herself and moping. Harry and Ginny were dancing, Ron was — still uncomfortable for her to be around, and Seamus and Dean were hanging around Blaise, who looked open to associating with them for the first time in Hermione's memory.

The reception hall looked like it had come straight out of one of her childhood storybooks. The ceiling had been charmed to show the clear night sky, filled with twinkling stars, and fairy lights spun in the air around them. High tables were scattered throughout the hall, and a string quartet played a waltz in the corner.

Her attention was pulled, as it had been all night, to the ill-tempered blond standing in the corner, Theo by his side. His arms were crossed, and he swayed side to side as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. His finger tapped against his glass, still a quarter-full, clinking his signet ring, much to Theo's annoyance (judging by the glare Theo gave him whenever he did it). Every so often, he would move the glass to his other hand to adjust his shirt cuffs.

He looked up at her, catching her watching him. She looked away.

The next time she allowed herself to look for him, he wasn't watching her. Instead, he had turned to observe as Harry and Ginny danced together. He didn't look happy for them – on the contrary, he looked pale and unsteady, his lips pressed in a tight line and his shoulders stiff. He frowned, looking down into his glass, before taking a sip and looking back up.

Theo leaned into him, muttering something in his ear, and he shook his head. Theo rolled his eyes and straightened, and then Draco was looking at her again.

She held his eye for a second, looking him over, and resumed her conversation with Neville.

He looked handsome, so much so that Hermione hated that she still wanted him. He wore a well-fitted black suit with a silver vest, and though it was a simple combination, his posture and his stoic impression made him look striking and aristocratic in a way that had Hermione feeling foolish that she ever thought she had a chance with him. Perhaps that had been his aim in dressing himself that night.

She had picked her dress weeks ago when she thought they were still a thing that could develop. She had thought of him when she stood in the dressing room of the muggle shop, running her hands over the deep purple lace, holding up the silver clutch and trying to see it through his eyes.

The wedding was winding down when he approached her. He didn't say hello, but he placed his glass on a nearby high table and fiddled with the cuffs on his shirt. He scratched his jaw and turned his ring twice, and she watched him, waiting for him to speak. After a moment, he leaned closer, his lips close to her ear.

"Will you come outside with me?"

Hermione nodded, and he placed a hand on her lower back, guiding her outside of the reception hall. His hand was warm and firm against the lace of her dress, and she felt herself pushing back into his palm. His fingers twitched.

Once outside, he slid his hand from her back, around the curve of her waist, and dropped it to his side. Taking a deep breath, he met her eyes with a certainty she couldn't begin to imagine the reason for, his face taut and his lips thin.

"If I tell you something, will you promise not to be cross with me?"

Hermione scoffed. "I'm already cross with you."

"_More_ cross, then."

"That depends," she said, picking at the lace designs in her dress, "on whether you say something that I don't like."

"Fine. Just – Fine." He ran a hand through his hair. "I owe you an apology – a real one."

He reached for her hand, but she pulled away, and he pursed his lips.

"Is this your own opinion?"

He almost laughed. "It's not only my opinion – Theo has been quite persistent." He paused and met her eyes. "But if you're asking if I agree with him, then yes. You were right – I have been intentionally cold to you this week, and instead of being honest with you, I let my insecurities get in the way."

Some of the fairy lights had made there way outside and were floating alongside them, and Hermione forced herself to focus on them. On the warmth they emitted, the way they lit up the air around them with a comforting glow. She tried to concentrate entirely on them because the moment she looked back at Draco, she would break. She had remained strong for the past week – well, most of it – and she could still be strong now, but the longer he kept talking, the more she could feel it bubbling up inside her, in her chest, her lungs, and behind her eyes.

He must have seen the distress in her face, because he reached for her hand again, and this time she let him close his around her fingers. His ring was nestled against her pinky, the metal warm as if he had been twisting it all night.

"I was caught off guard, when I saw Weasley there, like that, with you–"

"In my office, you mean?"

He seemed confused by her question and brushed past it. "That, and the fact that...I've wanted you for so long – I didn't want to believe that I might have missed my chance. I fell into some old habits, and you didn't deserve that."

Her eyes widened, and she tried to suck in a breath, her throat catching on the lump that had formed there. He eyed her warily, evaluating how she was processing his latest confession. It might not have been the right time to ask just how long _so long_ is, but her heart beat fast with the possibility. She touched the ends of her hair with her fingertips, and he watched her.

"And I know," he said, "I know I don't have any sort of claim on you, I _do_, I didn't mean to make you feel like–"

"Draco," she interrupted, and his mouth snapped shut. "What you saw with Ron, in my office, I." She took a breath, pushing her hair back. "I went back the next day to decline. I didn't – what you saw, it wasn't–"

Draco lowered his gaze and shifted his weight between his feet. "Ah," he said, rubbing the back of his neck, his expression sheepish. "That's the thing you might be cross with me about."

He squared his shoulders and then continued. "I was told that you might...have something of mine." He brought both of his wrists up at eye level, and while one cuff was unadorned, held together by a small button, the other flaunted a familiar design, the silver glinting in the fairy lights and the onyx inlay setting off the crisp white of his shirt.

Hermione's vision narrowed until all she saw was the silver cufflink, the same one that she had been obsessing over all week. And _of course_ it was his because he would always find a way to occupy a large portion of her thoughts, even when neither of them recognized it. Her eyes flicked between the one remaining cufflink worn on a shaky wrist and Draco's steady, apprehensive gaze. He was nervous, she realized, because he knew she had been trying to return the missing piece to its owner, and he had said nothing for a week.

And then it dawned on her why he refused to listen to her about Ron kissing her, why his reaction to everything she tried to tell him had been so explosive, why, even when Hermione tried to correct what she thought were Theo's errors, he wouldn't listen to her. Because he had _seen _–

"You were there."

He looked away. "I was."

"You were there when I – when Ron."

"Er. Yes. I had just–" His face twisted, crumpled. He brought his hand towards her shoulder and let it hover over the skin, then released a shaky exhale as he curled his fingers into his palm and let his hand fall to his side. "I didn't stay. I didn't see what happened – after. But what you said about not knowing the whole story made me think I may have jumped to conclusions."

She drew the missing cufflink – the one she'd been carrying around all week – out of her clutch and took his wrist in her hand, relishing the way his breath caught. She slipped the bullet back through the opening of his cuff, sliding her thumb against the inside of his wrist and circling it with her fingers, needing to touch him even after she didn't have an excuse to do so.

Hermione's eyes were prickling and blurring, and she swiped at them to clear her vision.

"I know that I tend to act spoiled, and I can't promise it won't happen again," he continued, bringing a thumb up to rub at his nose, "but I hope in the future I can do a better job at...at showing you what you mean to me." He squeezed her hand. "If you'll have me."

A half-sob, half-laugh rose up in her throat, pressing on her lungs and her heart, and she pressed a hand to her mouth when her lips twisted and threatened to let it out. He was here, in front of her, talking to her in the same way that did before..._before_. She should say no, though, because he put her through hell for the past week, and she knew him, so she knew that it would happen again, maybe tomorrow, or next month, or two years from now. She should say no, but he was _apologizing_, and he was telling her that she wasn't crazy, that there had been something more between them all along, and, well, they could at least _try_, right? "I should have–" she bit down on her tongue and took several slow breaths. "I should have told you. What happened with Ron. What he said."

"No," he murmured, and when she glanced up at him, his eyes were red and glassy. "I should have trusted you. I...I shouldn't have made you question my feelings for you."

"I thought." Pressure was building up behind her eyes, in her throat, in her gut, and she tried to tamp it down. "After this week – I thought it was just me."

"Never." His voice, while still quiet, was firm. "It was never–" He dragged the pad of his thumb under his eyes and grabbed her hand again, his grip reassuring and strong. "I'm sorry, Hermione."

She squeezed her eyes shut, mourning the makeup that had taken so long to get right. "You're such a prat," she muttered.

A swift exhale hit her face, and when she looked at him, he was smiling. Just a small, warm incline in the corner of his mouth, but it was a smile, and it was directed at her. Her arm shook as his hand skated up to her shoulder, pushing under her hair and across her back to pull her into his chest. His other hand came up to cradle her neck, and his breath ghosted over her head. She shuddered and laid her hands on his waist. The heat of his skin seeped through his scratchy dress shirt to her palms, her chest, and her cheek, and it wasn't long before the pinching pressure overtook her walls and a tear leaked from her eyes, a wet spot developing where her face met the fabric. He tightened his arm around her shoulders, drawing her closer into him.

Draco moved his hand until he was cupping her jaw, his thumb brushing her cheek with a reverent touch. Despite her best efforts, more tears escaped from the corner of her eye, and he swept those away as well. He tilted her head up and scanned her face, no doubt taking in her ruined makeup and general redness.

He leaned forward and pressed his lips against her forehead, and Hermione held her breath. Her pulse hammered in her throat as she closed her eyes and leaned into him, because _dammit_, there was something about this moment, and him being here and finally _finally_ being honest with her that made her want to give in to the heat behind her eyes. He tilted her face to the side and kissed her cheek in the same slow manner. As his lips moved over her face, she could hear the change in his breath, the quickening inhales and exhales, and she could feel his hand start to tremble against her face.

This was the moment, she realized. This was the thing that she could turn to when he did something like this again – because she knew that he would. And when he did, she could think of this – the way his hand felt against her cheek, how his voice sounded when he said her name, the look in his eye when he was brushing her tears away. The feeling in her heart when she chose him.

"Draco," she whispered, and his eyes cut to hers, burning her. His lips hovered just millimeters over her own, and if she moved just a little bit, she could –

"Granger," he murmured, and he sounded as wrecked as she was. He licked his lips. "Hermione, _please_–"

It was the last _please_ that broke her, propelled her forward, wrapping her arms around his waist and grabbing her forearms against his back, holding him to her, against her. He made a tight, keening noise when her lips met his and every other thought flew out of Hermione's mind until there was only the feel of his mouth, warm and gentle against her own. His nails massaged her scalp, hands running through her hair, and his body, flush against her own, was intoxicating and unrestrained and here for her to carry with her.

Her hands moved on instinct over his waist, his hips, tracing his ribs through his back, memorizing him as if he could disappear at any moment. She could feel his muscles tense and relax under her fingers, and he arched into her when her fingers fluttered over the dip in his waist and again at the sensitive spot just below his shoulder blade. The smell of his cologne wrapped around her, earthy and masculine, teasing her nose. She was intimately aware of his whole body, and Draco was – was –

– _Fuck_, he was wrapping both hands up in her hair, pulling hard at the roots for leverage and heaving her impossibly closer. His mouth opened against her and his tongue caressed her lips, inviting himself in. He tasted sweet, almost fruity, and Hermione laughed against him when she placed his flavor.

"What is it?" he breathed, keeping his eyes closed as he moved his mouth to her neck, pressing open-mouthed kisses to her skin and grazing his teeth against her.

"You taste like cake." She felt him pause and grin against her neck. She shook her head. "It doesn't matter, it doesn't–" she choked on a moan as his lips landed on the spot just below her ear, and he sucked and licked at it. He pushed a knee between her legs and tilted her head as he continued to pay close attention to her neck.

"_God_," Hermione breathed. She had thought about this happening for months, but anything she could have imagined paled in comparison to reality. She felt like crying or screaming, or just rutting up against his leg right here outside of the reception hall, propriety be damned. Her arms tightened around his waist, her hands fisting in the fabric of his shirt, the one she had just been crying into a minute ago.

She brought her hands up to his face, dragging over his back, pulling his shirt out of his trousers, desperate for more contact. She grabbed at his jaw, pushing her hands back so her fingers were threading through his hair, and pulled, bringing his face back up to hers. His breath stuttered when he looked at her, his cheeks bright red, his lips swollen, and his eyes bright and frantic. He loosened his hold on her hair and let one hand move to her back, smoothing down her spine and catching on the texture of her dress. He rested his hand against her lower back, rubbing his thumb in slow, lazy circles.

He kissed her again then, keeping one hand on her neck while the other drifted even lower. He brushed against the swell of her arse experimentally, and she rocked against him, rubbing against his leg. He shuddered, his leg pressing further between her knees, his tongue darting in and out of her mouth, willing and open, and _oh god_, he was _so good_ at this. His hand pressed more firmly over her arse, tugging her into him, connecting their hips.

She should stop now, she thought, as she rocked into him again. This wasn't the place, and what he was doing was so sinful, it should be illegal, probably _was_ illegal, actually, out in the open like that. Harry and Ginny were in there, having fun with their guests, while they were out here chasing their own pleasure.

"_Oh_," he sighed, rolling his hips. She could feel a tingling beneath her skin, a warmth starting in her toes all the way to her fingertips. "_Yes_, Hermione–" he moaned again, pressing his erection into her hip, holding her tight against him, right there during her best friend's wedding reception. Buried his face in her neck, a fistful of her hair clutched against his cheek. He breathed her in, a long, deep inhale. "You have to know," he said, pulling back and cupping her cheeks. His eyes darted across her face, taking her in. "You _have_ to – how much I wanted this – you."

Goosebumps broke out under her hands as she slid them down his neck and over his shoulders. His breath ghosted across her lips, his fingers threading through the hair on the back of her neck. And the way he was looking at her –just – it was everything. It sunk into her, down to her bones and back out again, settling on her skin. It squeezed her lungs, twisted her stomach, heated her everywhere.

"Hermione," he breathed, and the sound of her name rang in her ears. His forehead pressed against hers, and he shut his eyes again. "Could we – would you come with me. To my home, after this. We could – talk, figure this out, and–" he shrugged, the corner of his mouth tilting up, and opened his eyes, "– if you want."

A smile stretched across her face, and she was helpless to stop it. Draco looked between her watery eyes and down to her mouth, still welcoming and wanting, and dropped a kiss to her forehead.

"First, though." He grabbed her chin and dragged her mouth back to his, drawing a high, needy sound from her throat. He held her still as he opened himself up and pressed his body into her, his mouth soft and hot against her own, and _god_ if she knew it would feel like this she would have kissed him _months_ ago. The coaxing pull of his warm lips, the teasing press of his fingers against her neck, the – _ohfuck _– the delicate slide of his tongue when she parted her lips. He released her mouth and leaned back in, nipping at her bottom lip, groaning breathlessly as he drew back again. He brushed his lips against hers once, twice more, like he couldn't get enough of her. Couldn't stop kissing her, pressing against her. And she couldn't stop pulling him back in, over and over and over again.

Her stomach fluttered like she might be sick, and her pulse raced like she might faint. She couldn't imagine staying until the reception was over without dying first from this headiness.

Draco opened his eyes and stepped back, straightening his shirt and tucking it back into his trousers, and fixing his hair. When he was done, he gave her a fond smile.

"Did you know," Hermione said, reaching for his hand and pulling it toward her until she was looking down at his cuff, "I think you're the only one who actually wore these things. I should have known."

He arched a brow and took his hand back to fiddle with the cufflink – the one she had found on her greeting room floor that pulled her away and then back to him. "I thought the invitation said black tie," he said, and she laughed.

He offered her his elbow. "Come back inside with me?"

"Yes," she said, slipping her hand into the crook of his arm as he led her back into the reception hall.

_end_

* * *

**A/N: Thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed! I hope you liked my little story. This was the first thing I've written in about ten years, so I appreciate all feedback! **


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